


The Stage That Never Ends

by Calliecature



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
Genre: Exploring Roger Rabbit's character, F/M, Gen, Harassment, T for swearing, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24251245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliecature/pseuds/Calliecature
Summary: For Roger, the world's a stage that never ends. He never have to pretend because what he was in the show was what humans needed him to be in real life. So why did it left him questioning himself? A.ka. a story of Roger suffering from identity crisis.
Relationships: Jessica Rabbit/Roger Rabbit, most are friendships, roger rabbit & OCs
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	The Stage That Never Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back after recovering from writer's burnout. I've been writing about Roger for a long time but until now, his character eludes me. It's like it's a combination of Roger logic, performer tricks, luck and a lot of sincerity. So this story might be me looking too deeply into Roger's patterns in the movie or not. 
> 
> I'm just publishing it now because I want it off my hands.

Shakespeare was right. The world was a stage and all the men and women were actors and actresses.

At least, it was for Roger Rabbit.

“Aaaand cut!”

The “baby” instantly spat out apple mash and Baby Herman’s cooing roughened to a rough grating of a chainsmoker. “Gawdammnit, how many times do I have to eat that drivel?! Whiskey, now!”

Roger grinned. Shakespeare’s insight was not the case for Herman though.

Lifting Herman around the waist, Roger simply swung him around in a spin as Herman yelped out a curse. 

“Whoo-hoo, we did it, Herman! That happy baby face you did was perfect!” 

Herman grumbled, turning away. Roger grinned even more as he set Herman down. Whether his comedic partner would admit it or not, Herman was proud of his work despite complaining how humiliating it was to be infantilized on TV.

Herman let the interns dress him in a robe and accepted the shot of whiskey with more grumblings, but thankfully less yelling.

Roger watched him walk away, barking out that he’s going back in his trailer. Yes, for Herman, the stage stopped at the set. 

Someone ruffled the top of his head. “Great job today, Roger!” 

Roger looked up to see the errand girls that ran around the set. Jill. Marge. Glenda. Crouching down at him. Smiling. He smiled back, preparing to go through the motions. 

“Jeepers! It’s nothing! How’re you girls doing?”

They cooed, one of them pinching his cheek. He always felt like he was a cute little pet to them. But did it matter? Between Raul the director being cranky, Herman being crankier (and a sexist), it was better off that there was something to make them feel relaxed and happy in their workplace.

After a while, they had to take their leave and Roger waved them goodbye. An exhale escaped his lips as he straightened up with a smile. Those girls tried to baby-talk Herman once. It ended up with one of them crying. Roger could practically see the relief radiating from them when Roger was the same as he was on TV.

Roger didn’t mind. He was what humans hoped toons would be outside the screen. Funny, entertaining and a cheer-upper.

It was strange how humans view toons. First law of toon physics: for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction.Yet, fair and just treatment wasn’t one of the things humans wanted for toons in real life.

Because it would felt like it would compromise their own.

With that in thought, it was funny how humans think it’s toons who are simple-minded.

He shook his head, remembering how toons weren’t allowed to live anywhere except ToonTown. 

Yup, he didn’t mind if the stage didn't end inside the set. What he already was, was what humans needed.

To be able to laugh.

To be able to get along.

For now, that would be enough.

* * *

Raul, the director, had been acting strange. Roger had not yet blown over the production budget of the show (he never really meant to, he swear), yet Raul looked like he was ready to roast him over an open fire.

His recent ire was a new brand of unusual. Restless. As if he was taking out his frustrations that didn’t really involve the show.

Therefore, Roger reasoned, Raul was… unhappy. The dire-est emotion of all.

As a toon who makes people laugh, he needed to get to the bottom of this! Plus, it would be less stressful to all of the crew.

“Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious,” he sang under his breath, ignoring the weird looks of the passerby. Roger hid behind a trash as he peeked over it. The man’s back was turned, shoulders hunched, as he headed in the direction of the pub.

Strange, it still wasn’t dark yet. 

Roger neared the pub as soon as Raul entered. He stopped before the sign “No Toons Allowed”. Roger grinned triumphantly. He wasn’t going to stay long and he wore just the thing for the occasion. A “real”, non-toon trenchcoat and hat that the Valiant brothers always wore. No one would ever notice he’s a toon!

He lowered the hat further over his eyes, ears flopping behind his back. His clown shoes sized feet padded into the pub as he searched for Raul.

There! Raul was stooped on the counter, an empty seat beside him. Perfect!

Roger zipped towards. He could hear Raul sigh in resignation as he slowly jutted out above the counter.

“Heeeeeyyy there, buddy,” Roger said, peeking under his hat with wide, amiable eyes. His tail brushed against his coat as it gladly wagged.

“Roger,” Raul said, his name coming out in an exhausted sigh. Good, that meant Raul was ready for a talk, right? “What do you want? Do you want a 6th biz that has an Anti-Roger ban?”

Roger waved his loud-yellow gloved hand. “I won’t be here for too long.” He spun on his seat before facing him, legs swinging as he gripped the seat. “Why so joed? You’ve been chewing us out harder than rubber jerky.” Not necessarily the whole crew. Just Roger who always ended up being a klutz and could shake off anything thrown at him.

Raul scowled even deeper. “I’m not in the mood to deal with toons right now, Roger.”

Roger gasped. He flung off his hat and trenchcoat, revealing a curly wig, a wide floppy hat and a long frilly dress that pooled around his feet. His feet stood up on tiptoes to give off the impression that he was five feet tall instead. 

(Before, he had seen the pieces of disguise in the thrift store where he bought the trenchcoat and thought, “Why not?”)

“I knew it, you couldn’t handle “us”!” he cried in a high-pitched voice, gesturing between him and Raul.

Raul gaped at him. 

“After everything we’ve been through! The many scenes you’ve given me a wallop.” His shoulders shook. If he couldn’t get through Raul as a toon, then he’ll use his roleplaying skills to get through to him as a human woman. “The many times you choked me because I messed up-”

“Okay, alright!!” Raul hissed, pulling him back to his seat. “It’s not you, okay?”

Roger beamed with hope. “Really?”

“And stop looking at me like that with a girly wig.” He poured himself another shot. “But this is exactly why I can’t deal with toons right now.” 

Roger cocked his head. “Don’t you want to work with toons anymore, Raul?”

“I...” Raul palmed his face. He dragged his hand down, giving Roger a good view of the pink beneath his lower eyelids. “No offense to you lot but I just want to move on to bigger things.”

“Oh.” Everyone’s Hollywood Dilemma: to be a bigshot. The rise to fame was like a rollercoaster that everyone wanted to ride. 

Raul took a swig. “It takes time to be recognized. But making cartoons?”

“Well, what kind of shows do you wanna platter?” 

“Movies. Action. Sci-fi. Not just TNTs and anvils.” Raul closed his eyes. “I’m getting impatient.”

Roger played with a napkin that he had pulled from its box, letting him talk on. 

“But it’s fine,” Raul continued. “I just didn’t expect this pace.”

Roger gave a silent exhale. Raul was feeling calmer now. But still a little down. 

Time for his line that could make or break Raul’s mood tomorrow. 

Roger perked, hopping on the counter with a peppy swing of his fist. “Don’t worry! Everything up is gonna be a piece of cake compared to dealing with us toons!”

He internally cheered at the exasperated but sideways tugged on Raul’s lips.

“Guess so, Roger.”

He spread his arms excitedly. “What if I read a story for Herman about outer space for the next cartoon short?” 

Raul snorted. “Are you crazy? We’re just going to film you reading a goddamn book? I’d rather we stick to bombs and anvils.”

Roger shook his head, his wig slipping askew. “Not like that, what if-”

“Hey you there!”

Roger turned, realizing the bartender had finally noticed why the odd patron was odd. 

“Scram! No toons allowed here!” he yelled, swinging a broom.

Roger ran -or rather, daintily held up his long skirt as he ran on tiptoes. “Jeepers!” 

The next week, the screenwriters Judd and Mort announced that the next cartoon short would be the imagined story of Roger to Baby Herman about their space adventure as requested by Raul.

* * *

Benny had always told him, “Hey Roger, this ain’t a cartoon!”

He was right.

But as long as Roger could see patterns in interactions, he could fulfill the reason why toons were created not just inside the TV.

“Down with Maroon! Down with Maroon!” the crowds chanted.

Roger’s ears drooped, watching the angry mob rallying in front of the Studios. Particularly, in front of the office window of RK Maroon.

So many frowns. So many unhappy faces.

The mob were monochrome toons who landed unwanted jobs since technicolor came to screen. Jobs that humans would rather not do and have low pay. 

Roger swallowed, remembering the ones that approached him for help.

_“Studio’s booming and our grub stays the same. We never had a raise for years!”_

_“So we want you with us.”_

_Roger brightened. “Oh, okay. I’ll talk to him!”_

_One of the toons sneered. “What’re you going to do? Ask him nicely?”_

_Roger tilted his head. “Um… yeah?”_

_It took a considerable feat for others to restrain the guy who had asked._

_“This ain’t a cartoon, you twit!”_

_Roger held up his hands apologetically. “I’m sorry, guys. I can’t be with the mob. I have to do my job.”_

_The toon tugged off the arms holding him. “C’mon, we’re wasting time.”_

_“Give it your all, you guys!” Roger said. One of the toons flipped him off._

Roger breathed. He wished he was better at explaining himself. He couldn’t even explain why Maroon needed a toon at his side while not agreeing with Maroon’s side while Maroon didn’t need to know that. He knew those toons didn't bother to convince Herman. The old "baby" was neutral to these kind of things.

The crowd was getting louder by the day as he had hoped so. Roger continued his walk to the studio, a lead weight setting on his stomach.

“Ass kisser!”

“Brown noser!”

“Privileged sap!”

He flinched at every turn but continued to enter the main building. For the past few weeks, he had continued with the motions of filming as the toons have their strike. 

_Louder!_ He wanted to yell from the windows. 

Instead, Roger opened the door towards RK Maroon’s office. “Hey, Aileen. Can I visit Maroon?”

Aileen smiled at him sympathetically. He had first checked on Maroon in the first days of the strike. Maroon looked like he was preparing to argue against Roger’s case for the toons. But Roger just asked how he had been doing. The look on Maroon's face was that of tentatively lowering his shield.

“Certainly,” she replied, waving him to the main door.

Roger took a dramatic breath. Then he opened the door and Roger was greeted by the chants of an angry mob coming from the window.

Maroon looked up, lifting his face off his cupped hands, his elbows resting on the table

Roger knew that in his story, he was here to convince Maroon. But in Maroon’s story, he was a misunderstood toonitarian.

“Heya, Maroon!”

“Roger.” He rubbed his temples. “It’s getting worse.”

“Are you okay, Maroon?” He frogleapt into the chair available, swinging his legs as he let Maroon still have the ball in the conversation. 

He wished he was there in the crowd, helping fellow toons. But…

Human ego was a fickle thing. 

“I’m fine,” Maroon gritted. “Five directors wanted a bigger budget and we’re sued for copyright by some upstart author and now this.” He gestured out to the window. “I can’t just give them what they want. Their demands are too high!”

Roger didn’t point out that Maroon had hoped they would go away if he ignored them. Maroon knew that toons were happy to serve if they couldn’t entertain.

“Ten percent increase is too much! Most salaries are 5% max,” he groused, downing an aspirin as he went through the pile of papers on his desk.

 _They didn’t have a raise for 4 years._ Math wasn’t Roger’s strongest suit but he was pretty sure ten percent was not enough of a compensation.

“Just where am I going to get that money? Studios demand a high budget and we haven’t had a blockbuster yet. I had a speech where I said we should all make sacrifices for the good of the studio but they won’t listen.”

Roger wondered if Maroon was the right person to ask them to tighten their bootstraps when he had bought a flashy car. But Roger just hummed, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from a nearby coffee table.

Maroon continued to vent. Roger knew the gist. It was pretty much the same as his last visit.

“I couldn’t just fire the leaders, who knows what they’re going to do next,” Maroon muttered under his breath. “They should be grateful for their jobs and now they’re demanding the whole kaboodle.”

Roger counted the seconds of silence after his last words. 

... _and three._ Maroon had finished letting out steam.

“Maroon… remember what you told me the first time you hired me?”

Maroon turned around to see Roger offering him the glass of water. Roger was a born toon, not a drawn one. Many had speculated what classic toon he had originated from but none can tell. He had the attributes of great studio toons: Looney Tunes wackiness, Disney charm and the hyperbolic feats of MGM studios. In short, Roger was the studios’ cartoon prized gem.

“You said you never make toons because you want to help the ones that were casted away.”

That was actually Maroon’s sales pitch to each and every hiree. If Walt’s phrase was “If you can dream it, you can do it,” Maroon was more philanthropic.

However, it couldn’t be denied that toons were cheaper labor and were sturdier than humans, thus having little to no need of hazard pay.

But Roger trusted Maroon that he believed in his ideal to some extent. His ego was just a bit bruised at being seen as the bad guy by the very people that he had employed. (Plus, Rouger could tell Maroon didn’t want to face that he had gotten greedy. Bringing that up would just hurt the cause though.)

"P-p-please,Maroon." Roger hopped up on his table, his eyes imploring. “ToonTown tax has increased. And also food and bills and everything!” He looked up to him, gesturing his hands and ears at the window. “You’re the only one who could help them.” 

Maroon’s eyes flitted to the window. He had been resisting the push of the masses. Roger just needed to pull. Maroon just needed to feel that someone believed in him.

“Maroon...”

When Maroon turned to face him again, Roger spoke. 

“...you’re their only hope.”

He glanced at the window. Then back at Roger’s pleading eyes. He sighed, heavy was the crown that he was wearing. 

Two sides of the story. Each with their own good guys and bad guys.

And Roger’s.

Maroon rubbed his chin before calling for his secretary. “I’ll see what can be done.” 

Roger only left when the studio’s head accountant came for the impromptu appointment. 

Days later, the monochrome toons rejoiced. They have negotiated a 5% increase for the year as compensation and a 3% increase every year after. 

Roger was happy for them. He hummed as he read the papers. He had accidentally held it upside-down but Roger was happy to have fun with the challenge of reading it.

“Hey,” Herman’s smoker voice rasped out.

Roger looked up at his friend who was taking a break beside him.

“Didn’tcha have anything to do with that?” Herman asked, gesturing at the news that he was reading. It was counted as a toon victory as it would encourage toons from other studios to do the same. 

“Nah,” Roger shook his head with a zany grin. “Would you listen to a fire alarm if there’s no fire?’”

Herman scowled, snatching the papers and giving it back right side up. “You're all loose screws again.”

“Thanks, Herman!” Roger said, taking back his newsies. Then went ahead and bellyflopped himself on the table.

“Hey! Dagnabbit, rabbit,” Herman grumbled at the disturbance, going back to nursing his bottle.

Roger simply dangled his arms over the table, childishly bending and unbending his knees in a carefree way. But in this position, Herman didn’t have to see his face. 

Humans never learn their own history and toons who live long and by their side, never forget. 

In 1941, 600 of the thousand Disney animators went on strike for 9 weeks until Disney was compelled by Federal folks, his moneybackers (which is the Bank of America) and his brother to recognize the Screen Cartoonists Guild and their demands for the Disney animators. 

The demands were followed, salaries were increased but it left Disney, who saw himself as a folksy cartoonist of humble beginnings, a bitter man who targeted pro-union artists -ignoring them and laying them off the first chance he would get. 

The toons who went on a strike were confident they would have the same success. But Roger felt the need to play good cop before Maroon went to the same petty path.

If the world was a stage that never ended and history would repeat itself, this was simply a reenactment at a smaller scale.

Roger gave a heavy breath. If he was being himself, why did it feel like he was squishing himself to fit in whatever box was needed?

* * *

_“You’re just too pure for this world, Roger.”_

_“Haha, you’re so innocent.”_

_“Get a clue, rabbit.”_

Roger stared at the mirror. Who was he, really?

The stage never ends but it was fine because he didn’t have to pretend to be someone else.

So why did it feel like by being himself, he was manipulating others? Nudging them what he wanted them to do?

Roger wanted to be good. But at the same time, he wished he wasn’t as aware. 

Because wasn’t manipulation wrong?

* * *

A black young rabbit glared moodily into the crackling flames. Behind him, a figure emerged, holding a cup of wine.

The black rabbit’s ears flicked at the sound of footsteps. Without turning around, he spoke.

“That schnook will have everything… and now, he will also have her,” he growled, his hands clenching into fists.

A white-furred hand patted his shoulder. “There, there.” This time, the black rabbit turned to face his companion, an aloof white rabbit comfortable in his wealth. His uncaring eyes reflected the flames of the fireplace as he coldly smiled. “Wouldn’t it be nice if that schnook just… goes away?”

The black rabbit stared before he burst out laughing.

“Cut! Cut!” the director, Shirley, yelled. “Blaine, we were so close! What is it now?”

The Blaine the Black Bunny wiped a few tears as his chortles subsided. “I’m so sorry. It’s just, it’s Roger!”

Roger tugged the suit he was wearing, that was for once, fitted him without being baggy. “Me? Is my acting not up to boot?”

“No, Roger, that was perfect,” Shirley said before growling at Blaine, poking him in the chest. “And you. Cut it out, take it seriously and for the last time, try to believe Roger is Don Garius of the Amedeous crime family.” She walked away muttering how the cast shouldn’t mingle together so that the character dynamics were more believable.

Roger smiled sheepishly as Blaine, who was supposed to be the main villain of the short film, tried to get back his bearings. “Don Garius” was supposed to be a villainous side character who would move the bad guy into the plot for his own motives.

“Sorry, Roger,” Blaine giggled, slumping on the prop armchair. “You’re just so… nice!”

Maroon had told him not to take the role because it might hurt his funny bunny image but Roger wanted to try something new. Something far from himself. 

Strangely, it felt liberating. Because in this enclosed stage, it wasn’t real. No one really gets hurt.

Roger simply gave a wry smile. At least real life didn’t ask him to be like Don Garius.

As long as he didn't need to pretend to be something he wasn’t, he didn’t mind if the stage never ended.

Right? 

* * *

He. Didn’t. Mind. At. All.

“Oh, he’s so darling!”

Roger continued to smile as they swarmed around, cameras flashing. Hands cupped and pinched his cheeks. Ran down the fur in his arms. Twirled around his ears.

Jeepers, why don’t humans believe him when he would say his ears are sensitive?

Maroon Cartoon Studios earn also through tour guides inside the studio. This meant that the cartoon stars have to act “in-character” when tourists abound.

Fortunately, toon stars were allowed to use escape lines while being what they were on TV.

He was about to zip out of the spot but someone grabbed him from behinds and squeezed, his feet dangling off the ground. 

Now someone had told him long ago that he may be thin but because he was a toon, he was as squishy as a marshmallow. 

And that white fur felt the softest.

In short, he was in a hot-watered pickle.

The squeezing lessened when Roger made a well-practiced wheezing sound. 

“Oh my, sorry,” the lady said. To his dismay, she just adjusted him in her arms bridal style and posed for her husband’s camera. 

_Endure. Just a little longer._

He didn’t mind hugging a stranger. It was just that it would be nice if he would know about it beforehand. 

She raised him up even more to nuzzle his cheek. Time to zip-

He yelped when someone seized him off. His vision shook, stilled and he blinked, finding himself in Jessica’s arms.

Before anyone could react, Jessica stormed off with him in tow.

Roger waited a few seconds of silence, glancing up at her face. Yup, she looked displeased. Which meant she had fumed past displeasure already. 

“Uh.. Jessica?” he asked, careful not to tear off the tersed quiet. 

No answer. She kept looking ahead, her eyes a green tundra. Roger relaxed. He’d been working with her as his co-star for so long, he found he didn’t mind being carried. 

He tried to shift in her arms but they just gripped him closer. Roger wondered if Jessica would get in trouble for what she did. But then again, since she was still not an official member of the cast yet, she wasn’t expected to play a part in the tours. 

“Jessica...” he said louder.

Jessica finally looked down. The twitch of her arms around him, gripping then relaxing, told him that he had startled her.

“You can put me down now,” he gently said. 

She slowed but started walking again. When he saw the makeup room ahead, he opened the door for her. Letting him stand on the stool, Jessica finally let him go. 

Jessica straightened to her full height, arms crossed.

“You don’t have to put up with that.” Despite the bluntness of her message, it still came out soft with the velvet of her voice. 

Roger ran his hands through his ears, smoothing down the remaining phantom touch from strangers. At least no one tried to run their fingers through his chest fur this time. That had made him want to curl up and die.

“It’s fine. I was about to zip out of her arms anyway.” He chuckled. “Any closer and we might’ve exchanged faces.” 

Her lips pressed together into a flat line (quite a feat for someone with full lips). 

Roger’s ears drooped. Jessica must’ve been more bothered than he thought.

“You were already uncomfortable,” she pointed out, moving her hands to her hips -a trait, Roger noticed, that she would do when she felt indignant enough to slap someone. Roger had never been thankful that they were far away from the clingy tourist lady. “If you don’t feel safe, manners no longer matter.” 

Roger bowed his head as he shrank several inches. He felt like a young girl being warned about predators. Then again, maybe Jessica had given this advice to others. He wouldn't be surprised.

Jessica raised a brow. “Why’re you smiling?”

He grinned even wider. Jessica rarely reveals her hand. “I never knew you’re so protective.” For some reason, he felt something warm inside his chest. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

Her eyes widened before they narrowed. She crossed her arms again. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the slight flush in her face. 

“I’m trying to be stern, Roger.”

He chuckled. Why do people think she’s an ice queen again? “Okay.” He struck a karate pose as he looked this way and that. “I’ll be more vigilant next time! Hyaa!”

This time, Jessica breathed a laugh, making his heart soar. Anything for his friend.

“Hey, wanna slurp a malt later? This day’s been..” he paused for a dramatic effect before he gave her finger guns and a wink “...touchy.”

Roger laughed when Jessica simply raked his tuft of ginger hair over his eyes before leaving. 

* * *

Being friends with Jessica was… a relief.

The first time he had invited Jessica over for a milkshake, he never really gave it much thought until she asked if he was asking her out.

A confused “What?” must’ve been an improper response. But Jessica must’ve taken that as a “no” because she went off and bought her own drink.

Ever since then, it has become their routine. 

“Feeling better?” he grinned as he watched her drink tea. “You should’ve bought a sundae. That’s what cools me off!”

Jessica only hummed in response, the veil of hair covering her eye falling further as she dipped her head to blow the steam off her drink. 

“That’s right! Breathing exercise! Herman’s anger manager once showed him how to do it and Herman mastered it enough to amp his rants into sonic boom levels. You should hear him-”

He chattered on as they continued to drink. Befriending Jessica had been a relief. He still hadn’t grasped why though. Maybe because she let him blabber on without snapping at him to shut up? Or maybe because she may not talk much but when she would, it would make Roger gape because she pointed out something he had never thought of? Roger had always thought Jessica was so smart, she could be a detective herself. 

A man sauntered over to the counter that they were occupying.

“Miss, I think you need prescription glasses,” he smirked, glancing at Roger.

Jessica barely looked up. “Maybe you need those glasses to see your own audacity.”

Roger spewed out his drink.

The man’s jaw slacked before frowning. “Don’t be so rude, I’m only trying to chat, hun.”

“And I’m trying to enjoy my jasmine.” She waved her hand away as if he was a fly. “Go follow your advice.”

The man straightened up from the counter. “Bitch.”

Roger tilted his head, puzzled. “No need to introduce yourself.”

Jessica sipped her tea. “We already know what you are.”

They had a high-five under the counter as Roger laughed out loud. 

The world blacked out when the guy punched him in the face. Roger fell to the floor, stars spinning.

Through his swimming vision, he could see a worried Jessica crouched down beside him. Her mouth formed his name but all he could hear was ringing. 

The room temperature dropped as Jessica glowered…

She turned to the direction of the man leaving. “ _You..._ ”

Roger clasped her wrist, making her look down. The chill disappeared in an instant.

“It’s alright,” he groaned as he picked himself up. He shook off the shiner and held his head, “I’ve met harder swings right in the kisser.” Jessica could’ve been followed and get hurt if she got the last say. 

It might as well be him.

He hopped back to his seat as Jessica frowned at him. Roger felt like he was being x-rayed by her gaze alone. Unlike him, Jessica was no fool. It felt like she was scrutinizing the past event already. Did she notice that he intentionally provoked the guy by laughing louder than what her barb deserved? 

He simply shrugged, staring back. Nothing of Jessica’s gaze would reveal herself -except for the unapologetic stance she faced everyone with. Jessica was like the dames in noir stories where the detective yearns to unlock the secrets in her eyes, picklocking their way into her heart.

But Roger wasn’t like that. 

He was content to be grateful for whatever she would reveal of her. 

After all, that’s what friends were.

“You’re a whole lot of funny, ya’know?” he chuckled. “You’re so sharp, we could use that in the show.”

He froze when Jessica placed her hands on either side of the counter, trapping him. 

What was happening?

He caught Jessica’s eye and he was barely getting a grip to not combust under the intensity of her stare. 

His mind blanked as he stilled like caught prey. He wanted to say there might be people staring. But Jessica never cared about what other people think of her.

“Sometimes,” Jessica quietly said, “I can never tell with you.”

For some reason, he felt _seen._

“Y-you can ask,” Roger said, his voice coming out in a whisper. “No one ever does.”

The days after that, Jessica helped peel away the tangled layers of “I am” and “I have to” that had been suffocating him for a long time. 

* * *

Years passed. If someone had told him that he will date and then marry Jessica in the future, he would’ve laughed and asked if he would be framed for murder too.

Well…

He was now in Eddie Valiant’s office and being framed for murder. They even used his “Don Garius” photo in the tabloids to really drive in that he could’ve done it. 

He couldn’t ask for Herman’s help or any toon, it was too dangerous with Judge Doom.

With Raul and Maroon, he knew how to convince them. But with a detective that no longer wanted to help toons, he had no choice but to wing it. 

Roger would need to ad-lib with an unpredictable participant.

To tell a long story short, he exited through the wrong door, thought “Why not?” when he found the handcuffs, fooled around with said handcuffs, got handcuffed to a detective that refused to help him and now the Doom Patrol was looking for him. 

Everything was going exactly as planned. Or the vague idea of what he had to do (jeepers, he really needed to be more organized with life).

But the remaining Valiant detective who had always brought justice for toons was ready to turn him to the Weasels.

Unless...

He had to believe that that deep down, there was still that detective who wanted to help toons when they couldn’t help themselves.

He had to believe in the Eddie that still believed in justice.

“C’mon, Eddie. You’re my only hope,” he begged.

The knocking on the door became louder and Eddie turned. “Open up in the name of the law!”

“P-p-p-please, Eddie,” he implored, looking into his eyes. “You know there’s no justice in toons anymore.” _I know there’s good in ya. That was why you and Teddy became toon detectives!_ “If the Weasels get their hands on me...”

“Are you in there?” the Weasels demanded on the other side.

“...I’m as good as Dipped.”

Between him and the Weasels, everything now was up to Eddie. Another human that he had to cajole to help. 

Because for Eddie, this was his story and for Roger, the world was a stage.

**Author's Note:**

> The thing with Roger making Raul not get rid of him was purely misunderstanding on how to do it. Roger sincerely thought he should get through to him as a human woman and didn't realized he was embarrassing Raul with his display to the point that he pulled him back to his side to quiet him down. Roger logic made him open to the idea of fooling around with lady disguises (Raul) and handcuffs (Eddie). 
> 
> The thing with Roger dealing with Maroon was similar to how people don't listen to non-violent protests before until they would feel threatened by a more forceful group of the same cause that comes along. Between the protesting toons calling him a bad guy and Roger appealing to his better nature, Maroon preferred the latter because it's sweeter. So did Roger sweet talked him? Maybe.
> 
> Both with how Roger dealt with Raul and Maroon was a combination of how he dealt with Eddie: luck, Roger logic and appealing to his better nature.
> 
> The picture of Roger being a villainous side character came from this movie clip:  
> 
> 
> The Maroon Cartoon tour was inspired by the harassment Disney character actors experienced in Disney parks.


End file.
